A Summer in the Country (8 page)

She thought: I am a gullible fool.

The knock upon the door caused her to jump, her heart thudding suddenly in her side.

“Oh, for God's sake,” she said irritably, taking refuge in anger. “Pull yourself together!”

She went out into the hall and wrenched open the door. Frummie beamed at her.

“We're having a little drink,” she said. “It's such a lovely evening and quite warm enough to be outside, so we thought: Why not? And we wondered if you'd like to join us. You haven't met Margot, have you? She's a very old friend. Such a dear old friend that we thought we might need you as a referee later on.”

Her wicked old face was so lively, so bright with fun, that Louise smiled too.

“I'd like that very much,” she said. “Can I bring something to contribute?”

“Certainly not. Margot always brings enough booze to render a regiment of paratroopers insensible. She's never forgotten the horror stories she heard about prohibition when she was a susceptible child. It's quite terrible the effect it had on her young mind. We've got some supper on the go, so no need to worry about that either.”

“That's really kind.” Louise's relief was genuine. “Thanks. I'll fetch a shawl and be right over.”

The moment Jenny stepped from her car, pausing to stare across at the house, Brigid knew that her fears were all realised. Watching from the sitting-room window, she was consumed with a terror which curdled her gut and caused her to tremble. Fear was present in Jenny's posture, in the nervousness of her hands and, when Brigid met her at the door, she saw that it was carved into the lines of her face. Compassion held her own emotions at bay and she put out her arms and hugged her old friend warmly.

“Oh, Brigid.” Jenny was shivering like a sick dog. “God, it's good to see you.”

Brigid held her very tightly for a moment longer. “Come on into the kitchen,” she said. “We need some coffee.”

Jenny went straight to the Aga. She took hold of the rail and pressed herself against the range as if she were drawing the heat from it into her rigid body. Brigid lifted the lid and slid the kettle on to the hotplate. Try as she would she could think of nothing to say that was not trite and, looking at Jenny's worn face, it seemed insulting to offer banalities. Her old friend was born to be a round, jolly, comforting person but she'd lost a great deal of weight, which didn't suit her, and her hair was dry and lifeless.

As she made the coffee Brigid was struck by the odd perception she had of time. It ticked slowly by, second by second, regular as … well, clockwork, yet this never seemed to apply whilst you were actually living it. Whole chunks of life seemed to vanish in moments whilst others dragged for aeons. It was surely only a matter of months since she and Jenny were young mothers with small children, following Peter and Humphrey around the naval ports of the country. New quarters, playschools, picnics on the beach, childish illnesses, weekend expeditions when Humphrey and Peter were at sea, the first of the children—Jenny's Alan—starting school… Life had been settled in the quiet round of children's lives, despite the upheavals. She and Jenny had spent a lifetime—or so it seemed—walking: behind pushchairs, with toddlers on reins, with dogs and children in woods …

“How we walked,” she said suddenly. “Do you remember? Miles and miles, It's a wonder that our children weren't muscle-bound. Looking back, it's as if it lasted for ever, those times when the children were small, yet it passed so quickly. Five years? Seven? Out of nearly thirty years of marriage.”

Jenny didn't answer and when she glanced at her, Brigid saw that there were tears in her eyes.

“We didn't know when we were well off,” she muttered.

“Possibly.” Brigid tried for a lighter note, anxious to comfort her a little. “But there were pretty desperate moments. I was just remembering when Alan started school and you were terrified that no one would play with him. You insisted on hanging about opposite the playground, trying not to be seen, just in case he was crying.”

“I wore a floppy sunhat so as not to be recognised,” Jenny didn't know whether she was laughing or crying, “but you wouldn't let me wait.”

“I always was a bossy cow,” said Brigid cheerfully. some coffee.”

Almost reluctantly, Jenny left her position by the Aga and came to the table. She took her mug, refused sugar, sat in tense silence whilst the clock ticked loudly.

Brigid thought: These few minutes since she entered the house have seemed like hours.

“Shit!” Jenny said suddenly, explosively. “This is so bloody stupid. Sorry, Brigid. Apart from anything else it's the humiliation of it all. Having to admit, to tell you… Bryn's left me.”

“What?”
To her lasting shame Brigid knew a tiny stab of relief amongst the surge of shock and horror for Jenny. “But why? When?” “About a month ago.”

“But why didn't you telephone? Oh, Jenny, this is awful. I thought things were going so well.”

“I thought so too. Me and Iain, both. Bryn was handling all the business side. Money was coming in, lots of bookings. I was concentrating on the catering. Iain had a couple of young assistants helping him to begin with and then a girl joined last summer. They were takiqg a year out before going off to university. Well, the boys were. Joanna was having a gap year before starting some kind of work as a physical instructor or something…”

A long pause. Blot rose from a puddle of sunshine on the slate floor and came to sit beside Jenny. She bent to stroke him, taking refuge, briefly, in this distraction.

“And Bryn went off with Joanna?” Brigid hoped it might be easier for Jenny if she spoke the words for her.

Jenny raised her eyes. “She's twenty-two,” she said bleakly.
“Twenty-two.
Bryn's forty. He's younger than me.”

Bitterness, misery, a sense of failure—the words were weighty with these reactions and Brigid was unable to think of any suitable reply. Nothing, given the circumstances, was adequate.

“That's not all.” Jenny sat up, suddenly making up her mind to what had to be said. “He'd been planning it, you see. He'd been salting money away, taking it out of the business. Iain and I had no idea, of course. They just disappeared one day. He was going off for some meeting, hoping to raise new interest with a possible investor, so we didn't realise for a few days. Joanna phoned in to say that she had some bug and then I had this postcard. It was posted in Portugal and just had ‘Sorry' scribbled on it…” She swallowed. A shorter silence. “Then the letters had to be opened. The rent to the boatyard hadn't been paid for three months, the creditors were waiting too. When I spoke to the Bank they told me that the loan hadn't been paid for several months and now they're going to foreclose.”

The terror was back, churning in Brigid's stomach, anxious thoughts flapping like bats in her mind.

“So … so what does that mean exactly?”

“The trouble is, I don't quite know.” Jenny stared at her, something akin to anguish masked on her face. “They take everything first, you see. There's a hierarchy of creditors. The staff are most important—-well, there's not too much to worry about there—then the Inland Revenue and the VAT people, then the Bank and the unsecured creditors. As far as you're concerned, it depends if there's anything left when it comes to the Bank's turn.”

“And… is that a possibility?” Brigid hated minding when Jenny was so desperate.

“I simply don't know.” She sounded wretched. “We put in fifteen thousand and they matched it. Iain and I have talked it over and we think there's bound to be a shortfall.”

“Right.”

Jenny watched her miserably. “Obviously we shall sell everything we've got. Well, we'll have to …”

“Oh, Jenny, whatever will you do? I am so sorry. I still can't quite believe it.”

“Join the club,” said Jenny grimly. “My mother is out of her mind. She never liked Bryn and now I can see that she thinks she'll have to bail me out. Not that she's got any money, poor old thing, apart from her annuity, but I can tell that she's screwing herself up to the point of offering me a home.” She laughed, a high hysterical shriek. “We'd kill each other in a fortnight.”

“But how are you actually managing?” asked Brigid anxiously. “Where are you living? You can always come here, you know that.”

“Thanks, that's really … kind but Iain's got a big caravan, a kind of mobile home near St. Neots. He's told me to use it. It's a bit basic but quite OK. He's living with his brother in

Fowey. At the moment we're still trying to keep the business ticking over. If it's a going concern we might be able to sell it. It's not that it hasn't worked, you see. It's just been milked of all the profits and we've nothing left. Anyway, Iain's decided that if we lose it all he' 11 get a berth on a boat later in the summer. There's always someone who needs a hand, or some yacht to be delivered, but he doesn't want to commit himself until everything's been sorted.”

“But can Bryn just disappear? Can't he be traced? It's… it's unbelievable.”

'The point is that the creditors aren't prepared to hang about waiting. I think he's been planning for a long time. He took so little with him. Joanna's father lives on the Continent and I wonder if they've gone to him. Obviously, a search has been organised but, from what I can gather, it would be foolish to hold my breath.”

“I'm so sorry,” Brigid said again, helplessly.

“Well, I feel such a shit dropping you in it like this. It seemed so… good. And we were … so happy.”

“You didn't suspect anything with this Joanna?”

“Gullible, aren't I?” It was very nearly a sneer. “First Peter all those years and now Bryn. The odd thing was, he didn't seem to like her at all. Whenever he spoke about her it was only to say something rude. In fact I was worried that there might be a personality clash. In a tiny setup like ours you have to be careful. Now I see it was a smokescreen. I should have suspected something. Looking back, I see that he talked about her often, her name was often cropping up, but there it was always something derogatory, never anything good. I suppose he needed to talk about her but had to put me off the scent.” A pause… “I suppose you'll have to tell Humphrey?”

Briefly, Brigid heard Humphrey's voice.
“The trouble is> Jenny's on self-destruct”
Loyalty stirred. “What do Alan and Rebecca say?”

Jenny smiled bitterly. “My children are patronisingly long-suffering. They didn't like Bryn either. Alan said, Toor old Ma. One day you'll simply have to grow up.'”

Brigid bit her lip, feeling Jenny's humiliation. “And Rebecca?”

“She said, ‘God, your timing is always so great, isn't it?' She's about to have the baby.”

Brigid thought about Rebecca; as a baby, sitting on Jenny's lap, Jenny flush-faced, bending over her singing to her, rocking her. Oh, the love! The time invested; the tiny— and the not so tiny—sacrifices. She said hesitantly, “Perhaps you need to be a parent to truly understand.”

Jenny shrugged. “It's not a problem. It's you I'm worrying about. I'd never have asked if I thought there'd be the least danger. Of course, I didn't allow for this. Will you tell Humphrey?”

“Not yet. Let's see what happens. It might not be necessary.”

“Thanks. That's… really good of you. It's just I feel such a heap of shit and I can't bear it all round the Navy.”

“I don't think Humphrey would gossip.”

“Oh, I know he's not going to think I'm that important,” sharply, “but it might just slip out. I don't want Peter to know.”

That was the real truth, of course. Marrying Bryn, setting up the school, these things had been the equivalent of two fingers in the air to Peter, a restoration of confidence and self-esteem.

“You haven't drunk your coffee. I'll make some more.”

“I can't stay.” Jenny looked about for her bag, stood up. “I've got an appointment in Exeter and I ought to get on. It's just that I had to tell you face to face.”

“Are you sure you need to go yet? Can't you have some lunch?”

“No. Really. I wish I could …”

Brigid followed her out, standing behind her as she paused to look about.

“I always feel so safe here,” she said. “I always felt like that about this place, even when I was a kid. You… you wouldn't have to sell the cottage, would you?”

“I hope not.” Brigid tried to keep her voice even. “It depends.”

“It won't be that much. It can't be. Just a few thousand, perhaps.”

“Let's wait and see. Look, stay in touch. You know that you're welcome any time you want to come. Don't get desperate.”

They embraced and Jenny drove away, grim-faced.

Brigid watched her go. A few thousand—or much more? Supposing the cottage had to be sold?

The telephone was ringing. She ran inside and snatched up the receiver.

“Hello, my love.” Humphrey's voice was warm. “Just got a few moments so I thought I'd ring to see how you are. I'm hoping to get home before the weekend for a few extra days, not absolutely definite yet but I thought I'd give you a warning shot across the bows. How're things? Anything exciting happened down there?”

Brigid, staring at Jenny's mug of cold coffee, fought off an overwhelming longing to tell him the whole story. She took a deep breath. “No,” she said. “No, absolutely nothing at all.”

It was only after she'd replaced the receiver that the full horror of the situation slowly became clear. It wasn't simply the possible financial risk or the threat to the cottage, which were bad enough; it was her deception that was slowly revealing itself as the true danger. The fact that she had said nothing about it to Humphrey, had gone ahead with a scheme of which she'd known he would disapprove: this was at the root of her fear. Humphrey had never been diminished by the knowledge that Brigid owned Foxhole whilst he'd brought no property into their relationship. He wasn't the sort of man whose pride suffered at this particular kind of imbalance. He knew how important the old house was to her, was glad that she could bring up her own children within its secure walls and had seemed utterly indifferent to the fact that the estate belonged to her. Yet he had been very ready to agree to a mortgage on the longhouse, so as to have the cash to renovate the barns, and it was at this point that Brigid felt he'd truly become a joint owner with her. The barns were only viable units because Humphrey was able to pay the mortgage and, as they made plans and the conversions took place, Foxhole gradually changed and grew slowly into a different home; hers and Humphrey's and their children's home. Only the cottages remained as her sole property and, in entering into the agreement with Jenny, she had behaved with a secrecy which, until now, had never been allowed to be a part of their marriage.

Because of their particular backgrounds, they had each required a sense of absolute security before they could really trust the other and now, as she washed up the mugs, Brigid felt a very real fear as she wondered how Humphrey would react to her deception. How could she begin to tell him, to explain the risk she had taken—and for Jenny, of all people? It had always been a sadness to her that her closest friend and Humphrey had never been able to find any common ground on which to build a friendship. Humphrey found her scattiness, her impulsiveness and her refusal to think things through, utterly irritating; Jenny found his calm good sense, his steadiness and his refusal to be bounced into sudden impulses utterly boring. Standing between them, Brigid had tried to reconcile one to the other. To Humphrey: “She was such a comfort to me when I went to school. She never teased me about Mummie going off and leaving us and she's terribly loyal.” And to Jenny: “You have to remember that his mother died when he was quite young and his father remarried almost immediately. It was a terrible shock to Humphrey. He adored his mother and he couldn't adjust to his father's heartlessness. She wasn't a very strong woman and Humphrey had a very quiet upbringing. His father more or less abandoned him for this Swedish woman and he had to cope with things all on his own.”